


If We Never Go Back

by WhatIsAir



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 2014!verse, End!verse, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 03:43:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatIsAir/pseuds/WhatIsAir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zachariah doesn't zap Dean back to '09, leaving Dean stuck in the apocalyptic wasteland the world has become. With the future version of himself killed and Lucifer still at large, and a broken ex-angel junkie he has no idea how to deal with, Dean has to fight to save the world from Lucifer's wrath, and Castiel from himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If We Never Go Back

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback would be much appreciated, since this is my first SPN fic and basically I have no idea what the hell I'm supposed to be doing. I am well aware this is a crappy piece of writing, but bear with me. Please?

Dean wakes with his cheek pressed into damp, leafy ground and a persistent ache throbbing in his head. Groaning, he gets to his feet, brushing leaves off his jeans as he stands, not having regained his bearings enough yet.

Then, in a sudden surge of adrenaline, he remembers.

/Future him being a dick, using Cas and the others as decoys. Being knocked out by said dick./

“Shit,” he swears vehemently, just as sounds of gunfire and battle reach him. Twisting around and almost tripping over himself in his haste, Dean hurries to the sanatorium, casting his gaze around desperately for another way in.

It reveals itself in the form of an innocuous side door, and Dean doesn’t hesitate; he tries the door and when that doesn’t work, he gives it a vicious kick that takes the battered-looking door clean off its hinges.

Once inside it’s easy to follow the gunshots and screams to where the fight’s going down.

Dean takes off at a run up two flights of stairs, picking his way through several gunned down Croats, before arriving at where the battle’s still going strong.

He shoulders his way in through a door into what used to be one of the sanatorium’s main wards, and immediately a Croat slams into him, knocking him onto his back. Dean reaches for Ruby’s knife before remembering he’s left it back in ’09. Cursing, he brings his legs up in an attempt to push the Croat off of him, his hands intent on keeping its mouth anywhere him for fear of being bitten and infected.

From somewhere off to his right a single shot rings out, and Dean feels the Croat on him jerk before slumping bonelessly onto the floor, its head blown almost clean off.

Dean glances up in time to see Cas disappear under a swarm of Croatoans, his momentary distraction in saving Dean costing him dearly.  
“Dammit, Cas,” Dean hears himself say, before he’s snatched up an abandoned shotgun from the floor – he thinks it might have been Risa’s; her body’s lying not too far away from it – and starts shooting.

Maybe Dean’s only caught the tail end of the fight, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that, when he finally stops firing, when the ward’s littered with the dead bodies of both Croats and comrades alike, he’s the only one left standing.

He hurries over to the mass of bodies Cas has disappeared under, flinging aside the shotgun and managing to extract the ex-angel’s arm from the tangle. After a brief struggle he has Cas out from under the bodies and lays him out on the floor, where he lies unconscious, as he checks for a pulse.

Dean sags with relief when he finds it, thready and faint but there, reminding him that not all is lost. Once he’s ascertained that there are no signs of the Croats having actually bitten Cas, Dean drapes one of Cas’ arms over his shoulders and makes his slow, ungainly way down the stairs and out of the sanatorium.

Once out in the open, Dean can’t help feeling unbearably exposed, vulnerable. A gunshot pierces the still air at that precise moment, and Dean tenses, looking for the source.

He leaves Cas tucked behind a clump of bushes and heads round to the back of the sanatorium, where the shot had come from.

The lush green garden is not what he expected, nor is Lucifer wearing Sam, his foot on Dean’s future self’s neck.

There’s a strange ringing in Dean’s ears and tightness, closing like a vice, around his ribcage, as he faces the Devil in Sammy’s meatsuit.

“No matter what changes you make, whatever details you alter, we will always end up… here.” Lucifer-in-Sam says, warm brown eyes kind, understanding, as he stands in front of Dean, and there’s so much /Sam/ left in him and at the same time none at all that it makes Dean want to scream in frustration.

Dean wants to argue, maybe come up with a sassy comeback, but every insult dies on his lips as soon as Lucifer/Sam’s gaze meets his, and his resolve crumbles once more.

“I win. So… I win.”

And when Lucifer leaves in a dramatic flash of lightning Dean has an urge to call out for him to wait, to stay, as though this is just a brotherly quarrel he and Sam can resolve once they’ve both cooled off.

The reality is far from it, however, and Dean resigns himself to it as he makes his way back to where he’d left Cas, far more shaken by the encounter than he’d ever admit.

Relief floods him when he rounds the corner to find Cas upright, leaning against a wall for support, looking none the worse for wear aside from a cut on his cheek and – from the way he’s holding himself – possible bruising of his ribs.

“/Dean/,” Cas gasps, his breath hitching slightly in pain, as Dean comes closer. Hands latch onto his coat sleeves as the ex-angel demands hoarsely, “Is my – I mean, is Dean – the other you – is he –”

As Dean shakes his head and Cas makes a sound like he’s been stabbed, Dean wonders how he ever missed this element of the relationship between his future self and Cas. They make their way to the garden in the back, where the other Dean lies crumpled, his neck twisted at an odd angle, on the ground. He stands there awkwardly, doing his best to soothe the former angel, who’s fallen to his knees beside his future self’s body.

Eventually, Cas lifts his head from where he’s buried it in dead-Dean’s shoulder, and rasps, “We should get back, Dean. The others… they’ll be wondering if we’ve -” here Cas stops to draw in a breath, “– succeeded.”

“Yeah,” Dean mutters distractedly, absently noting the beauty of the sunset, streaks of orange and pink across the sky, and it looks so out of place, here, in this apocalyptic, rundown world, that he can’t help but think it shouldn’t be allowed to exist in this godforsaken hell-on-earth. 

Tearing his eyes away from the setting sun with difficulty, Dean clears his throat and says again, “Yeah, we should get going.”

Dean drives, since Cas is in no shape to do so, and the silence between them is broken only by Cas giving instructions on how to get back to Camp Chitaqua. The ex-angel spends the journey curled up on the passenger side, his head resting against the window, his gaze pointedly fixed on the road, and Dean gets the hint and they ride in silence all the way back to the camp.

They’ve no sooner cleared the gates of the compound when their Jeep is surrounded by campers, all milling about, anxious for news of the battle’s outcome.

An audible gasp ripples from the crowd when only Dean and Cas step out of the car, with no sign of any of the others or of their Fearless Leader.

Finally, Chuck, who’s pushed himself to the front, speaks for everyone present. “Is Dean dead?”

“Yes, I am. I mean – /he/ is,” Dean replies as impassively as he can manage, wanting more than ever to get away from the oppressive throng of people pressing in on him and Cas from all sides, as the pain in his head from his future self’s blow begins throbbing again.

Dean closes his eyes against the cries of shock and exclamations of dismay from all around him, wondering if any of them actually /care/ about their fallen leader as a person and not as their protective barrier against Lucifer and the apocalypse. To be fair, though, his future self hadn’t exactly made himself endearing to others.

Dean wonders what Cas saw in his future self at all.

Clearing his throat hesitantly, Chuck, bless him, asks the question that’s now on everyone’s mind. “Did Dean manage to kill Lucifer before he…?”

At Dean’s silent shake of his head, another collective gasp of horror goes around the crowd.

By this point Dean wants nothing more than to be away from the press of people on all sides and preferably back in his own friggin’ year.

There’s a lull where the crowd quiets before Chuck breaks it with a – “So, Dean, what do we do now?”

Dean blinks. “What?”

“I said, what do we do –”

“No, Chuck, I heard you, man,” Dean remedies tiredly, scrubbing a hand over his face, “I mean, what’re you askin’ me for? Go ask your second-in-command or whoever’s the boss of you when the other Dean’s not around.”

It’s Chuck’s turn to blink. “That’d be Risa. But Dean was always our leader, y’know, even when he was out on a mission or something.”

Dean grabs Cas’ shoulder and hisses into his ear, “What the hell is he talkin’ about, man?”

Cas sighs, extricating himself from gently from Dean’s grasp. “Dean’s position as leader was unrivalled, and it appears now that with him gone, you are the next best thing.”

Cas claps a hand on Dean’s shoulder, right over the mark he’d left when he’d first /gripped him tight and raised him from perdition/. “Congratulations, Dean,” the former angel says stoically, “You’re our new Fearless Leader.”


End file.
